


Calibrating

by goretier



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goretier/pseuds/goretier
Summary: The thought of Tony creating Peter's suit and getting to know his body before ever setting a hand on his skin kills me. Now with added actual skin-touching.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this years ago, note the fact that I reference vine in this first paragraph lol
> 
> I'm open to writing actual smut for this if there's some interest but this is short simple.

The video was grainy and had been filmed with a shaky hand, and that was perfect for covering editing issues. Tony had seen many an edit like this; whole YouTube playlists dedicated to Iron Man vines were out there, and he knew it. Some of them were kind of funny. 

“It’s real, boss.” FRIDAY’s voice sounded from the screen. “No editing detected. Everything checks out.”

Tony sat back in his seat. He knew, deep down. There were too many rumors, too many sightings, too much evidence, even if most of it was in a similar condition. There was no way the entire city of New York could put together such a character for fun.

“Alright. Alright, fine.” He said, picking up a pencil from the mess on the desk in front of him to spin it idly between his fingers. “Bring him back up.”

FRIDAY rewound to the beginning of the video, when Spider-Man swings by in front of the camera. Already, a thousand options swirled around Tony’s mind as he considered the pixelated form in front of him. Better eyewear, first, Jesus. Something less baggy. At least he had good taste in colors. 

“Can I get a height and weight estimate?” Tony asked, tossing the pencil to the desk in favor of swiping his hands in front of him to pull up a hologram to work on.

“Sure thing, boss.” FRIDAY said. A figure composed itself in the space in front of Tony, building up from the feet. In a moment, a pale blue and smooth body rotated gently on the screen. 

Tony cast it to the floor projectors, and it lit up the room to his right in actual size.

It made him pause.

“This is accurate?” He asked, looking at the figure. It was slight, so tiny. Barely reached his chin. The blue wash of light it generated bathed the papers on his desk gently when he glanced back down at his notes in disbelief.

“It’s just a 95% confidence interval. Any adjustments to better adhere to his actual size can be handled after the base is made and Spider-Man tries it on. We could start our search now, though, if you’d like.”

Tony shook his head and waved a flippant hand at the idea before he turned back to the hologram, and pulled out the papers holding his drafting ideas.

“That’s low priority, FRIDAY. Work on finding Steve.”

\--

Something about making the suit was thrilling, but Tony chalked it up to the novelty of it. It was certainly new; spandex, not iron, was definitely an interesting change in pace. He didn’t know much about Spider-Man outside the few measurements he had in his hand, but if the guy could catch a car without a scratch – what was it? 3,000 pounds, 40 miles an hour? – it wouldn’t matter too much what he put on in the morning. It was all about personal preference at that point.

Tony couldn’t help it though, when he got the first mock-up in hand from the machine and felt his gut clench in his stomach when he felt the material that was supposed to cover his chest between his thumb and forefinger.

God, it was thin…

The iron-infused spandex felt strong between his fingers but of course the tests he ran it through ripped it to shreds in an instant. It was a miracle nothing like this happened to the vigilante out on the streets as he whipped around in his keds and sweatshirts. After the first high caliber dented the ballistics gel body a little too fiercely, Tony felt a bit of anxiety spike in his chest.

Maybe this mystery man wouldn’t mind some extra padding. He turned to his workstation and scanned through his lists of available materials for anything that would bulk the Spider-Suit up a little. Something durable, that would bend but not crack, flex but not snap… He should go completely bulletproof, too, if only to settle the rolling worry in his stomach… The sooner this was finished, the better.

He glanced at the frozen screen cap of Spider-Man whipping by in his sweatshirt. There was a lot to lose if you didn’t walk around in your own personal tank.

\--

On the fifth prototype, Tony paused to admire his form. The suit was standing, fleshed out like its owner would wear it. As a small electromagnetic pulse kept it firm and upright as if the ghost of his little hero was standing inside the snug suit so Tony could work out where best to place his wires.

It was different working on something this size. Tony knew logically he was by no means the largest guy around – that was stupid, he’d fought beside Thor before – but working on something so delicate looking as this suit made his chest tight in a way he wasn’t sure he could describe. The shoulders were so much thinner than his own.

There was something very off putting about it. Something wasn’t quite right – a piece missing from the equation.

“Do we know him yet?” Tony asked, sliding his hands down the sides of the suit, the too thin, too small, too fragile looking suit. It was warm against his palms from the heat in the shop, almost like it would feel if it were being worn. Someday soon a man would stand inside, and his skin would be there that few scant millimetres away, protected by nothing other than his stitching and the smattering of wires he was taping into place.

“I’ve been doing some low-priority scanning. Security footage pins him to Queens at night, otherwise nothing yet.”

Tony nodded, glided his hands up and thumbed at the base of the neck and over delicate collar bones on his way to feel the delicate patchwork of cardiovascular monitoring sensors.

“Bump that up to a higher priority.”

Somehow he knew he’d be handsome under the mask.

\--

Prototype seven came about after a week of work. Tony was delirious from lack of sleep, probably more coffee than man at this point, but at least he was satisfied with the base work. All the delicate monitoring systems were set, perfectly positioned, and the suit was next to infallible with regards to bludgeoning trauma (thank god, he prayed, after seeing the mask of prototype five cave in at the crown of the head during testing).

“Maybe you should sleep for a bit, boss.” FRIDAY coaxed when he set his hand down on the shoulder, so small he could reach his index finger out and brush at the base of his jaw. His neck was slender. Tony could fit one hand against the front of it.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Tony said, dragging his fingers up the smooth fabric stretched under the suit’s chin to feel across delicate cheek bones and to the curve of a well-protected ear. He’d check the AV components next. Make sure Spidey could see him.

\--

Prototype fourteen had all the fixings. It was almost five weeks since he’d started, and his work had slowed considerably as he neared the finish line. It was close, he could tell, as he stood with his crystal tumbler in his hand and took a sip of whiskey.

The suit was spinning idly in the air in front of him, once again held in place and filled like Spider-Man was standing there modeling it for him. This one was it, Tony could feel it. The suit passed him, its wide white eyes looking at him innocently, and turned to the back once more.

The small of his back tapered gently into a fine waist, a nice ass. Tony knew every measurement of this body inside and out and the feel of it under his hands was familiar, even though it stood empty and lifeless in front of him.

“Pull up Peter’s face for me.” He said, looking to his computer to his side at their little spider problem, sucking on an ice cube.

In retrospect, he probably should have seen it coming. Only a day after FRIDAY had increased the search priority did she locate him, and Tony remembered staring dumbly at the fresh face of the boy for whom he’d been crafting a suit that could effectively become his casket, and nodded his head because, yeah, only a fifteen year old would have an inseam that short, and Tony had had his suspicions ever since his little eureka moment while calibrating prototype three’s balance functions, located towards his center of gravity and close to his hips. He remembered holding them, staring at the texture of his fabric, and thinking about the skin that was inevitably going to bruise underneath it, where his thumbs were pressing.

Peter Parker’s high school photo smiled back at him beautifully. He supposed nobody suspected it, what with the nerd exterior he exuded and all his accolades and trivia whatever backing up the image. Oh, yes. The dossier had been thorough indeed. But Tony knew better. He stepped aside, moved closer to the suit, tapped something on a keypad just to the left of it and set it on a rotating pattern that moved the body smoothly through some of Peter’s more common fighting forms.

Tony paced around it and watched the suit move. His face felt hot and his mouth was dry so he took another drink as the suit bent backwards and flipped over, and twisted sideways and crouched. Peter was sly, he was clever, he was good at hiding his strength, his skills, his super-secret extracurricular activity.

He probably went home bruised nearly every night. Reports of Spider-Man engagements popped up almost daily. Some were fabricated or exaggerated but FRIDAY had a wonderful system established to sort out the noise, but the kid was getting bolder, looking for more. Little did he know.

“Pause.” Tony said, stopping it on one particular motion that had the suit bent backwards, one hand outstretched to catch his fall and push him into a flip. Ostensibly, this was another motion test to spot any problem areas for comfort and range of motion. Peter’s back was arched in the most lovely curve.

“Play.”

The suit catapulted itself back to its feet, dropped down to a crouch and swept out a kick. Tony watched it with a bit of a detached haze to his gaze, thinking about the measurements of his calves, of the thickness of Peter’s thighs. So strong, so small. Kid must be all muscle.

“Pause.” He said, watching the suit rise, take a fighting stance, bring its hands up to its chest and step back with one foot. Tony stood next to it, and even in his own skin, outside his own suit, the boy was so much smaller than him.

The feel of the fabric – if you could really call it that, at this point – was more familiar to him than his own bed sheets by now. It was chilled, slightly, but would run much warmer with the kid zipped up tight inside. Especially so with the bio reports they’d collected. Especially so with the exertion the kid was under during his fights.

“Play.” Tony said, looking at his head, thinking about the mess of curls that would get covered. Such a shame, but Peter was too pretty to go out there without it. So young. “Tell me about his day.”

“Peter Parker attended school in its entirety today.” FRIDAY said, filling the silent room as Tony stepped back and watched the suit resume its show. “He first spent the afternoon with his close friend Ned, and the evening passed uneventful until he left for his first patrol shortly after nine.”

Tony turned his back on the suit, walked over to the bar, and poured himself another drink. FRIDAY continued.

“He retrieved a stolen bike in Queens at nine forty-five. He was seen swinging through Manhattan shortly after eleven. Two cellphone videos were uploaded of his passage down Seventh Ave by the Madison Square Garden. He posed for photos.”

Tony found a seat on the couch by the edge of the room, kicked a few papers to the floor, and sat with his drink cold on his hip as he draped his other hand across the back. He took another sip and sighed as FRIDAY’s voice washed over him, and the Spider-suit flipped forward gracefully and assumed his customary crouch.

Tony’s eyes drifted shut, and he thought again about Peter’s face. In another few days he’d pass the suit along to him and the kid would wear it, bruise underneath it, get bloodied and broken, and beat. There was no going back at this point – how could he not give him the damn thing at this point, the most advanced thing the boy was wearing right now was a pair of _swim goggles_ for God’s sake – and the escalation it invited tickled anxiety in his stomach again.

Fifteen, though due for his birthday, soon. Maybe Tony should get him a gift.

His eyes closed fully, and Tony let his head fall back against the couch. The suit came as a matter of course, but maybe he could get Pepper to pick up something else for the boy. Some cologne. He should take him to dinner. 

Across the room, the suit padded forward and sprung into a silent leap. Tony could hear the kid’s breath already, knew exactly how many centimetres his chest expanded when he exhaled. He’d felt it work under his palms for hours. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony remembered the smell of the apartment, the takeout food and wine. The paint on the four walls of his room and how nervous the kid had been, standing there in front of his Lego sets and laundry. The original suit, Christ did it scare him, and the way Peter went down hard on the airport tarmac and could not get up.

Just because he asked.

Just because Peter could not refuse him.

\--

Later, in his workshop, with some fading bruises and barely set bones, Peter Parker rolled his neck gingerly and gestured with one gloved hand to the stretch of material that was tight across his left shoulder and kept his range of motion cramped.

“And here, Mister Stark.” He said, looking at him with his wide and pretty eyes, because the mask had been flawless and Tony preferred to look at his curls. “Though it isn’t too big an issue.”

Tony shrugged, put the note down in his files for the next upgrade. The kid was humble to a fault and incapable of asking for anything more than a glass of water, so he had figured getting criticism from him would be an uphill battle. It was a cute look on him all the same, though, and Tony didn’t mind it. “Okay. How’s the chest.”

He knew it was perfect without asking but it was still fun to see Peter tuck his chin down and stare at himself. FRIDAY had supplied him with the footage from their fight at the airport and Tony had already known the two trouble spots before bringing the kid in, just the shoulder and some uncomfortable wiring placement on the top of his right foot. Still, feedback was necessary, and the boy did indeed wear it well.

Peter Parker was nearly 5’7” with size nine shoes. He knew by heart how many centimetres long his fingers were, how wide across the palms, and how narrow at the waist. And that Tony’s hands fit comfortably about his neck. It was true that the kid was all legs. His hips were just a few inches below his own, and Tony knew he could slide his thigh between the kid’s knee and pick him up a few inches easily.

“Perfect, Mister Stark.” Peter confirmed, bowing his back and dipping into a bridge on the floor in front of Tony, who had been sitting in a desk chair with his legs spread casually. He had to widen them further when Peter kicked out of his bridge into a handstand to fall back to his feet just within the space between his knees and the lovely small of his back at eye level with his gaze. “Ah, sorry.”

“Stay there.” Tony said, dropping his pen onto the desk by his side, grabbing Peter by the wrist before he could tumble away. He pulled the kid around so he was facing him and stood up from his seat. It was nice to press his hands over his work with Peter filling the suit, the way he moved inside it like he was dancing, his own little private show, so Tony indulged himself, let go of his hand and tapped the emblem on his chest. “Biometrics and CPU located here. Well-armored so don’t worry about getting banged up too much, but the backups are located here.” He said, pressing his hand back and down, around to tap lightly at that sweet small of his back that tortured him so.

Peter nodded, his eyes on Tony’s chest and blue with the light of the arc reactor shining between them, but his cheeks were glowing pink. Tony passed his hand up to the back of his neck by skating them gently up his spine until he stopped, just at the base of his skull. “Mask systems located here. No backups just yet, but they’ll be here.” He murmured, passing his hand to the space just behind his left ear, thrilling deep in his chest at the feeling of Peter’s curls brushing against his fingertips. “Gimme your hand.”

Peter offered it up wordlessly, met his eyes with big pupils and a little shiver down his back. Tony took it all in, every little micro-movement, tracked them, logged them, and took hold of the palm and fingertips he had memorized and tapped two fingers lightly at his wrist. “Web fluid storage was a bitch but it runs from here to the elbow on both arms.” He said, stroking up his arm, stopping to press his thumb into the suit there, thinking about his skin, and wondering if he was really that pale everywhere, if he was one to blush all the way down to his collarbones, what color his bruises were now and if he dared to leave some more. “Working on expanding capacity with extra storage by the armpits or between the shoulder blades, but we might need that room for the parachute.”

“Parachute?” Peter echoed, wavering between them as Tony dropped his arm, stepped away.

“You never know.” He said, turning back to his desk to fidget with their plans, feeling his head spin, smelling the kid’s shampoo on the air. Behind him, Peter shook his head and rolled his shoulders and took two cartwheels to put some space between them.

“I really can’t believe how comfortable it is.” Peter said, coming to rest and then sitting cross-legged on the floor before flipping some web out to grab his mask by Tony’s elbow. “It’s like a second skin.”

“Mm, yeah.” Tony said distractedly, trying to not think about that too much as he mulled over the numbers of his inseam and the graceful curve of his spine and the way he could fit his hand neatly over his hips and admire how much of him he could hold. “FRIDAY is excellent with estimates.”

Peter pulled his mask on and laid down spread-eagle on the floor with a sigh. The steady intake of data from the suit on Tony’s computer showed his heightened heart rate, his flushed temperature and the way his palms were sweating. Tony looked away, and back at the boy, and thought about how much more alive the suit was with somebody breathing inside it. His perfect form, devastating with how slender his fingers, how long his legs, how slim his shoulders and tapered his waist.

“Do you want dinner?” He asked, grasping at straws. They were done for the day but he was reluctant to let the kid go, take the suit, leave his hands empty. “I have an excellent chef on hand at the moment.”

Peter sat up and pulled his mask up over his eyes, showing the mess of bangs mashed down onto his forehead. “No thank you, Mister Stark. May would kill me if I wasn’t hungry, it’s her turn to cook tonight.”

Tony nodded, flexed his hand absently, wished he could tell him it was alright, he’d talk to his aunt, just stay a while longer but they needed boundaries and Tony had to have something to stop him from stealing him away. “Tell her I say hello.”

Peter rose to his feet and took his mask off completely before pacing forward. He was so small next to him, God, Tony would never get over it. He put a hand on his shoulder, couldn’t help himself, flicked a curl by the side of his ear and then grabbed it between his thumb and forefinger and pulled, just a little. Light enough to tease. Purposeful enough that the jolt it gave Peter only heated Tony’s gaze.

Peter smiled shyly, tipped his head to the side with a little laugh, like it tickled, like he enjoyed the touch. His eyes danced around them, down across Tony’s chest, to his hips, towards the desk, over the stream of information that his suit collected and there he grinned ruefully at the numbers.

“Guess you know pretty much everything about me.” He said, fidgeting with the mask and looking down at the clean and simple spider stamped over his chest, not daring to meet his eyes.

 _Ask for it_ , Tony begged silently.

“FRIDAY expects you’ll shoot up another three inches at least.” He said, taking his hand away and leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms, looking over his little nearly-5’7” frame because his patience was thinning and straining now. “But yeah.”

“Only three?” Peter asked with a grin, looking more closely at the computer. He bit at the inside of his cheek as he watched his heart rate rise when Tony uncrossed his arms and loomed just a touch closer to his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about that.” Tony said, resting one arm to Peter’s side on the desk and gesturing at the screen with a lazy hand. “Just collecting some averages so we can make out some baselines on your vitals.”

“Oh, neat.” Peter said, turning around and jumping up to sit on the desk, kicking his feet once, twice, before tucking them back and under with his ankles crossed. “Though I’m not sure too much of this is useful data.”

“Oh, you're referring to the fact that your heart appears to be in the middle of running a triathlon just after a couple cartwheels,” Tony nodded, put his other hand down beside Peter’s thigh, and jerked his head towards the monitor, “Which, yes, is skewing the results. Much more of this and I’ll have to toss the whole day. Wonder what that’s about.”

_Ask for it._

Peter blushed and squirmed a little on the desk, and fluttered his eyes up to meet Tony’s for a moment before he cracked a grin. “Guess I’m still a little starstruck?”

“Liar.” Tony said, throwing caution to the wind and making a mental note to wipe the security footage collected from the hour once Peter got home, because this was too hard and he was too hungry and he had never had wonderful table manners, and because he lifted a hand and took Peter by the back of the head and bent down to taste him.

Peter gasped and shot his hands up to grip Tony at the front of his shirt, to pull him in as he spread his legs further on the desk. Tony settled in against him and gripped Peter tight on the hip, pulled him forward across the desk so he could lean into him and let the kid grind against his thigh.

He licked into the boy, tasted his spit and felt the heat of his tongue. The kid was eager to fit his thighs around his and hump into him, almost virginal in his uncertain eagerness, and the thought kind of stuck to the front of Tony’s mind where everything had been a sweet haze of taste and sound for a few minutes that made him pull away.

Peter gasped, and his chest was heaving, and Tony straightened his back and licked his lips before reaching back to the clasps that kept the suit buttoned up Peter’s spine. They clicked apart after the first one in an easy, snappy sequence, and Peter shivered when the cold air of the shop touched down on his skin.

“Have you done this before?” Tony asked casually, peeling the suit off Peter’s skin, marveling at how pale and pretty he was. “Not that it matters. I’m not going to fuck you.”

 _Today_ he added pointedly in his mind.

“N-no, Mister Stark. I’ve only ever kissed some girls before.”

Ah, what a pretty sight that must have been. Tony pictured Peter at parties, surrounded by tits and red solo cups, having his handful of shy kisses on the bathroom floor or in coat closets. Did he blush like this, too? The boy was red down to his collar bones just as he pictured, his skin scorching hot, as he helped work the suit off his torso and down to reveal his flushed and dripping dick, settled sweetly between his hipbones that Tony promised himself he wouldn’t bruise too heavily.

“Very cute, Parker.” Tony said, tossing the suit to the floor and putting his hands on Peter’s thighs. He spread them, felt his skin give and his thumb sink into his flesh, and got on his knees to bite greedily at his hips.

Peter stuttered his hips against his face, locked his thighs around his head, and wove one hand into Tony’s hair as the other clamped down over his mouth. It didn’t do much to hide his voice and Tony decided he _wouldn’t_ be deleting his security tapes, only moving them around a little, as he left a trail of bite marks and hickeys up to Peter’s crotch and the pink and flushed dick that strained for his attention.

Tony looked up, at the frozen and pleading and teary eyes of his little spider problem, and thought about how nice it would be to keep him here overnight sometime soon. He licked up his length and tasted his precum, felt the kid shout when he swallowed around him, and tried to keep from drooling everywhere just at the feeling of some fifteen year old’s dick twitching at the back of his throat.

Tony pulled off with a wet and drippy kiss and stood up. He pressed a firm hand on Peter’s chest and pushed him back until the kid was flat on the desk – which worked for only half a second before the boy was arching his back and pressing up into his hand, burning the skin on his fingers and palm, with a crazy heart beat and some very suggestive gasps. He let go, pulled the boy down the desk and pushed his thighs apart until he could fit his own hips up between them, and let himself think about it for the entire time it took to pull himself out of his jeans.

Peter, with his hands in fists in his bed sheets. Peter, with his glassy eyes looking up at him from between his knees. Peter, bent over the work bench, with the small of his back under his hand as his other stretched him out. 

He’d have him soon. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. Tony spat in his palm and took hold of his dick, bent over Peter’s shaking and needing form, and ground his cock against the boy’s.

“Mister Stark,” Peter keened, reaching for him again, pulling at his shirt and biting his lip when Tony took him in hand too, and stroked, “Oh, holy shit, Mister Stark…!”

“Come on, Peter,” Tony growled, twisting his hand, rocking his hips forward, dragging his gaze over his face, down his neck, over the fine skin on his collarbones, “Beg for it.”

Peter’s face went bright red and he jostled his hips between them, scrambled to put one arm behind him to lean on as he looked down at their dicks grinding together. Tony was leaking onto him and Peter was making a mess on his own stomach with his precum already, and the rasp of Tony’s jeans and zipper against his thighs, against the bruises that were already darkening, shook something loose from inside him.

“Please, please Mister Stark, I want to come so badly,” He begged, dropping his head back and grabbing at Tony’s arm as he fucked his hips up against him, his hand, his hard length, the weight of his balls pressing into his own, “I want it, Mister Stark, I want you to take me, fuck me please, _please_ I need your cock!”

As if the thought itself was too much for Peter, on top of Tony’s hand and the feeling of his rough breath on the inside of his neck, Peter shook against him and spilled against his hand until he was dripping between them onto the perfect proportions of his hipbones all the way up to his sweet belly button. Tony pumped him three, four more times, until the kid was shaking, before letting him go and straightening, watching him twitch and shake.

He was close, too, fisting himself and looking down at this mess of a kid, at his wild hair and wet eyes, and the way his chest rose and fell like he’d just dashed home from a fight, and he pushed him over onto his stomach easily, cum on his papers be damned, and took hold of one asscheek to pull him apart, spread him open, and slide his cock neatly between them and drag the head of it against his hole.

Peter shouted, shivered, and pressed back against him with all his might to grind into him and beg for it again. Tony came across his back, into the sweet dimples at the low sweep of his spine, and rocked back so that the last of it dripped between his cheeks and smeared against his hole. On a whim, he licked his first two fingers as he stumbled back a step, and pressed them down to push against his hole and the cum he painted it with, and inched his fingertips in just to the first knuckle before deciding that was enough for the day.

Peter shuddered and humped his ass back, delusional in the mess of papers. Tony sighed, turned the poor kid over, and grabbed the first clean looking oil rag he had before smoothing his hair with a hand and carefully wiping at the cum drying on his stomach.

“Alright, spidey.” He said, tossing it aside when he got the worst of it off and not daring to take something so rough back to his ass. “Let’s hit the showers, Aunt May will be waiting.”

Peter laughed, pushed himself up on shaky arms, and even coaxed Tony into carrying him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as u can tell I don't care for writing dialogue. thank you for reading, tho, and pls talk to me about ironspider on twitter, I'm @goretier


End file.
